


I Dreamt I Died

by Terminality



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, Chaptered, F/F, F/M, M/M, davekat fic challenge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-04-04
Updated: 2012-05-30
Packaged: 2017-11-03 01:59:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/375839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Terminality/pseuds/Terminality
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After winning Sburb, the crew was able to create a new world: they'd managed to get the ultimate prize. Expect it's not exactly what they thought it was going to be, and now they have to deal with the consequences of a broken world and society all the while managing elaborate quadrant flipping shenanigans and social reform movements. Karkat Vantas is at the center of it all: social activist, face of the movement, and living in the ass-backward middle of nowhere, a recluse of his own making. He's comfortable in the life he's made for himself, even though it sucks and isn't what he wanted. That is, until one Dave Strider crashes head-first back into his life and ruins everything.</p>
<p>((Fic for the DaveKat fanfic contest. Post-Sburb AU in a world where trolls and humans coexist in a not-quite-functioning new world.))</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! This fic is my entry for the DaveKat fanfiction contest over on tumblr. I'm shooting for the longer category, so expect a few solid chapters out of this. I'm not 100% sure where it's going, but I'm pretty interested in the world I've started building up, so it should be fun to play in. I hope you enjoy~ :)
> 
> Side-note: Yes, this is another chapter fic. No, this doesn't mean I've given up on SO. I'm actually working on the next chapter now that I've got this one finished! I just wanted to work on something a little different and get a good start on my contest fic.

_i live near the  
slaughterhouse  
and am ill  
with thriving._ \-- Bukowski

 

**Karkat Vantas == > Wake up.**

You wake up quickly, jolt into awareness in the pile of blankets you use as a bed like you've just been shook, and you blink away the sleep in your vision to stare down reflective, black lenses, two inches from your face and gleaming with the dim light from the nearby window.

There is a sword pressed to your throat, a thin body leaning over you, and you are gripping at the bedsheets with such force you hear them tear under your claws. The person over top of you shifts his weight, lets out a little, sharp puff of breath. Other than that, he is utterly emotionless.

They've finally caught up to you. It's only taken a sweep and a half, but it's a sweep and a half longer than you thought it would take, quite frankly, and you're almost surprised to see him. You've let your guard down over the past few perigrees, become unprepared for this kind of turn of events. You think about trying to reason with him, decide against it at the last possible second. Open your mouth, close it again, and swallow hard.

"Fucking took you long enough."

He shrugs.

\----

**Karkat Vantas == > Rewind a little.**

You get off work a little before sunrise and make it to Kanaya's cafe before Sollux can even get there, an accomplishment for you. The store won't open for another hour, but this has become your meeting place in this god forsaken shit hole, and Kanaya will let you in whenever you need. She lives on the top floor with Rose, the only human you've had steady contact with since the game ended, and the two of them run the cafe as something "to occupy the time" while they work with you and the others toward Feferi's reform movement. You don't really understand the appeal, but Kanaya seems to enjoy it, so you don't mind.

She lets you in the front door with a gentle, understanding smile, and you're thankful that she doesn't ask you how your night has gone, because the answer is pretty fucking standard at this point: goddamn terrible. You work in a rundown bar in the heart of Derse where no one gives a flying fuck where you've been or what your blood looks like so long as you provide fast service and listen to the bullshit customers have to say. You've become sort of the resident go-to listener for relationship troubles, which you don't really mind doing. It is probably the only part of the job you can stand. You enjoy being able to immerse yourself in someone else's drama, as trivial as quadrant affairs might seem compared to everything else.

You take a seat in the far corner of the cafe and Kanaya follows you, a cup of tea in her hand. She waits patiently while you dig your husktop out of your shoulder bag, sitting it on the small table next to you while you start it. She hands you the tea and you take it with a nod of thanks.

"It's not normally like him to run behind," she says, arms folded delicately over her chest, and you shrug, because it's Sollux, and you're pretty sure he runs off his own time. You pull your husktop into your lap with one hand and take a sip of the tea with the other, glad for the warmth.

"He'll come. I think he's probably incapable of missing a chance to berate me for something else I didn't fucking do." She laughs, gentle and soft, and puts a hand on the back of your neck, bending down and hugging you with one arm. You lean your head against her shoulder in response. She's not your moirail, so you should feel a little bad about this, and you do, really. You feel guilty that you've sought comfort in Kanaya since Gamzee has been away, but you think he understands. She's there for you - not in the same way as him - but she keeps you sane. You appreciate her for that.

You spend the next twenty minutes or so drinking tea and checking up on forums. You are the face of Feferi's web-based reform movement, using your past and the mythology that surrounds your ancestor (even in this new world he is something to be remembered) to give everyone a figurehead to rally behind. Online, you are open about your blood, about your past, and about Sgrub, and sometimes you hate it, because it's none of their goddamn business. But it makes people interested, draws them in, and you do it for Feferi and Sollux's sake, so you put up with the attention and the adoration you've recieved, putting yourself in danger all in the name of Troll equality.

Or something along those lines. You aren't exactly sure "troll equality" is a real thing at this point.

"Daydreaming again?" Sollux sits across from you on the couch, drawing your attention away from your husktop. He is visibly tired, the bags under his eyes dark enough to rival your own, and he has a split lip and black eye. You roll your eyes at him.

"You're a complete bulgemunching moron for trying to have a kismesistude with that pompous douchebag. What the fuck do you even see in him?" He kicks you around the table and you hiss, because he hits you directly in the shin. You're right, though. If there's one thing you understand in this stupid, backward world, it's relationships, and Sollux's relationship with Eridan is a textbook case of a black romance that is going nowhere any time fast. You're pretty sure, from the details you've wormed out of Sollux and Feferi, that it mostly just culmulates into black eyes and a lot of whining to Feferi once it's over. The most tame, uneventful black romance you've ever heard of.

"I didn't come here for your shitty advice, KK. Shut the hell up." You huff, crossing your arms over your chest.

"If you didn't clearly need my advice so badly I wouldn't offer it all the goddamned time," you say, closing your husktop and pushing it over to the side. He gives you a hard look behind his colored glasses.

"Seriously not in the mood today," he says, curt and annoyed, and he presses his hands to his eyes, rubbing gingerly to try to wake himself up. You sigh. Sollux is a goddamn mess, which comes as no surprise to anyone, really. He has been spending all of his time with Feferi, helping her where he can, working on the more technological side of the movement, all the while balancing a moirailship with her and a kismesistude with her old flame, Eridan. Who tried to kill him once, not to mention succeeded in killing her, which they seem to have forgotten. New world doesn't mean that shit didn't happen.

You keep your mouth shut, though, opting instead to pat him comfortingly on the knee.

"Okay," you take another drink of tea, finish off the cup, and sit it down next to your husktop on the small table. You look Sollux over one more time and want to tell him he needs to find himself a better moirail. Instead, you ask him if he has any news for you.

"Not really. People are starting to get behind the idea at least. We've had a lot of support from warmbloods, obviously, but coldbloods are starting to come in mass numbers. We can thank your insane moirail for that one." You can't help but smile a little. Gamzee's been working hard to convince the other midbloods and higher to help improve the situation for warmbloods and most humans. You haven't seen him in almost a month, and that hurts, but hearing that he's making progress lessens the blow a little.

"Holy fuck, he's actually accomplishing something and I didn't even have to hold his hand through the whole thing," you say, and Sollux shakes his head, adjusting his glasses and typing away on his husktop.

"You'd be impressed." You are. You don't say it out loud, but you think Sollux must notice, because his expression softens. He looks up from his husktop and you have to fidget a bit, because he is honestly, openly staring at you, and you want to tell him to stop being such a fucking creep and knock it off.

He sighs.

"KK, you should get out of this shithole. There are enough of us that no one would even notice you'd come Prospit-side," his voice is softer, concerned. You've heard this line probably ten times in the past few perigrees and you shake your head in response. The answer is going to be the same every time:

"No. Fuck that. The last place I want to be is with a group of fucking insane humans and trolls as a fucking mutant. Yeah, that sounds like a great idea, let's put the mutant in with the crowd of people who already can't fucking stand the sight of a goddamn rust blood. Flawless fucking logic," you say it with more venom than you intend, because you're still a mutant even with a new world and a new life, and you fail to see how that's any fucking fair. The only pure red-blooded troll on the whole fucking planet, and it doesn't even help that your blood color matches that of the humans, just makes it worse. The few people who know your color who aren't friends or followers call you "human blooded," meant to be an insult. You groan.

"It wouldn't be that bad," he says, but he doesn't entirely sound confident, and you shake your head once more.

"No, goddammit. Just no. I'm not fucking moving somewhere I'm not even wanted. At least in this shithole no one even gives a flying fuck." He's clearly annoyed with your constant refusal, and you know he'll be pestering you about it again before the perigree's end, but he doesn't fight the point any more. Kanaya brings you both a cup of tea, and you wonder how long she's been listening to your conversation, judging by the sad little smile she gives you. You brush it off.

Sollux falls into comfortable conversation about the movement and Feferi and what it's like being her moirail, and you immerse yourself in their drama for a while, glad for something to think about that's not your living situation.

When you return home, a little after sunrise and completely exhausted, you strip down to your underwear and fall into bed with a frustrated sigh. You lie there, toss and turn and stare at the vague shapes and reflections of light on the ceiling as the sun rises, and you find you can't sleep. It's not unusual for you - you are exhausted in every possible meaning of the word, yet you can't seem to settle down enough to sleep.

You get up, walk up to the window and take a seat at the small ledge next to it. You pull your husktop out of the bag on the floor, slipping it onto your lap and turning it on. While it starts, you lean closer to the window, examining the outside.

The street is empty, and the hives that line it are broken down, neglected after many years of disuse. It is a desolate strip of land located twenty miles out from the nearest city. You live on the outskirts, where it's safer and there's less of a chance for an encounter you don't want. Two dark red bloods live nearby with a rogue cerulean, but you don't really talk to them at all.

You think this place used to be a suburb, wonder what it looked like before it got ransacked and ignored and abandoned. You live in a world where trolls and humans aren't equal, where blood caste still exists, and where you live in a fucking hidden hive on the side of a road no one goes down.

This world is broken. You hate it, hate your situation and what you have to do to get by. You're open about your blood online, the face of this reformation movement you're trying to help Feferi lead, but you live a lie. You pretend to be a rust-blood, wear contacts and a false symbol, and are careful to avoid going out in huge groups as much as possible.

You talk to Sollux and Feferi online, help them with their uprising, and sometimes they come to visit, the only real face-to-face interaction you have outside of work. So you fall into a daily routine of work, visiting the cafe to meet with Kanaya and Sollux, and watching out the same goddamn window at the primary example of everything that is wrong with this world (and why you are fighting to change it).

It sucks, but it's a life. You'd felt like the world should owe you one, because fuck, you'd only created it, saved it, and made sure Trolls got to even exist as a race. You should be a fucking hero, someone remembered. Blood caste shouldn't still exist. Hiding shouldn't have to happen. The entire world should care about what you've done for it.

Except it doesn't care.

And you are stuck living here, alone, in this broken down hive, pretending to be someone you aren't, for the sake of making it through another day.

Your computer screen blinks to life with the ding of a Trollian IM, and you flip open to the window and sigh when you see Terezi's spill of teal letters.

\-- gallowsCalibrator [GC] began pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG] --

GC: 1 KNOW YOU AR3 ST1LL AW4K3, K4RK4T.  
GC: GO TO B3D! >:[ R1GHT NOW.  
GC: YOU N33D TO T4K3 B3TT3R C4R3 OF YOURS3LF.  
CG: I KNOW. YOU TELL ME EVERY SINGLE MORNING.  
GC: TH3N 4CTU4LLY LIST3N TO M3! J33Z.

\-- gallowsCalibrator [GC] has ceased pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG] --

She doesn't give you time to respond, signing off before you can, and you shut your husktop with a groan, putting it on the floor. You get up, stretch until the bones in your back and shoulders pop, and move to your makeshift "bed," a pile of blankets and pillows you've accumulated in the corner of the room. It's oddly shaped and somewhat lumpy, but comforting. You fall into it with a sigh, and stare at the wall until you fall asleep, a sour, sharp taste in your mouth.

You dream about the world you thought you were going to create.

\---

**Karkat Vantas == > Enough set-up. Get caught up.**

"Fucking took you long enough."

He shrugs.

You tilt your head to the side, scan the room for something you can do to get yourself out of the situation you've found yourself in. To your left, somewhere off in the dimness of the room, is your sickle. It is well out of reach, but if you can get him off of you, you could probably make a break for it. You think it is probably the only real chance you have, all things considered. You aren't exactly prepared for surprise attacks while you're sleeping.

You shift your legs a little, wonder why he hasn't just killed you yet. He has you pinned on either side, but he isn't holding your arms down, and without another thought you move. You jam your hand as hard as you can into his stomach, and he seems surprised for the split second that you see his face before you effectively flip him off of you and onto his back. You use his moment of hesitation to your advantage, rolling to the side and off your pile in the general direction of your sickle. You hear a scuff of movement and a curse.

"Jesus fuck," the voice says, but it's distant, and your pulse is racing in your head and chest and you don't really take the time to process it. Fuck, why did you move your sickle so far away. That was such a stupid, horrible idea. Past you is a fucking moron, as usual.

The breath is knocked clear out of you when you are kicked in the side, and you fall a good foot away from where you need to be. You curse under your breath. He recovered faster than you thought he would, and you flip onto your back so you can look up and seek him out above you. You squint up in the darkness, see a flash of a blade, and roll to the side just in time to avoid losing a limb.

"What kind of jackass attacks someone while they're sleeping, anyway," you say, your voice shallow and breathy from exhaustion, and you scramble forward, eyes locked on the small box you keep your sickles in. If only you can fucking reach them--

You're stopped dead in your tracks, fingertips a good three inches away from the box, when a hand grabs your ankle, pulling you back closer to him. You have just enough time to roll onto your back and kick out at him with your free leg before there's another metallic flash and your chest explodes in pain.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. You are going to die and you aren't even one-hundred percent sure why, other than it's clearly related to your reform movement (because why else would someone try to kill you), and it's definitely not the way you thought you were going to go. He pulls the sword out and you scramble back along the floor, chest aching. You're bleeding, can feel it pulsing down your bare skin, and if he didn't know about your mutation before, he does now. That thought always makes you cringe, that someone else might know what a freak you are.

Not that it matters much now.

You collapse against a chair, sickle still too far away to matter, and you clutch at the wound and groan. It hurts, but you're pretty sure he missed anything vital, so the only way you'll die from it is if he lets you bleed out on the floor. You doubt it, figure if he's really here to kill you he's going to get the job done, and you lean your head back against the chair and look for the gleaming of lenses in the gloom.

"Great, just fucking great. Because the universe isn't quite doing taking a huge shit all over my life, I now have to deal with some bulge-munching asshole sneaking into my hive in the middle of the day and trying to stab me to death," you groan, feeling a little light-headed from the loss of blood. You're talking because it's all you can really think to do, and you figure he doesn't even care what you have to say, anyway.

When he doesn't move forward to finish the job, you raise an eyebrow curiously, coughing into your hand when you try to get to your feet. Maybe he's distracted. You could make another dash for your sickle, take him down with you. Standing proves to be difficult with the dizziness, and you promptly fall back down against the chair, seeing stars.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me," he says, and he steps closer to you, glasses pushed to the top of his head and eyes focused intently on the smear of bright red blood on his sword and hand. He runs a finger down the blade, holds it up to his face, and you want to scream at him, because it's really not that interesting, goddammit, he's a human and he bleeds the same hideous color.

"Fuck you. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you. It's not even that fucking interesting anymore, you insufferable prick," you cough again, your rant cut short. Your voice is weak and tired and you just want to go back to sleep, to get this over with. Your chest aches in the most horrible way, and you are beginning to feel uncomfortably dizzy. If he isn't going to kill you the least he could do is leave you alone so you don't have to bleed to death in front of some faceless stranger.

When he looks up at you, pale skin accenting bright, unnaturally red eyes, your breath catches in your throat. He drops the sword with a clang, taking the extra few steps to bring himself immediately before you. He kneels down next to you and you cringe when he looks you square in the face, eyes wide.

"Karkat?"

"Oh jegus fuck. Dave Strider," you have to brace yourself against the floor to get a good, hard look at his face, and even then you're too foggy to really process it. You think it's him, though, because you've never seen another human with those eyes, and you think you'd remember someone quite like the Knight of Time. You latch onto that vague glimmer of hope, pray that you're right and it is him. He should remember you, remember the things you went through together in a different life. Maybe he'll help. You try to ignore the fact that he's the one who did this in the first place, figure there's a good reason for it.

You squint at him, open your mouth and try to think of the best possible thing you could say. You haven't seen Dave since you fought that last battle, side by side, and he had saved your life (on probably more than one occassion). He had been thrown across the floor after that, and you had lost sight of him, but he'd said your name in a tone of voice you have never, in the few years you've known him, heard him use before. For some reason, it's the only thing you can think of when you look at his face now.

You don't know what to say, opt for the stupidest, most unhelpful comment your brain can apparently dredge up in it's rattled state:

"I thought you were dead."

You black out before you can get any kind of response.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the nice comments, everyone. <3

When you regain consciousness, you're propped in your pile of blankets, and you stare at the ceiling for a solid minute, brain fuzzy and impossible to focus, trying to remember where you are and what happened. You wiggle your arm free from the tangle of blankets it's trapped in and rub your hand across your chest. You're bare chested, but there's a sturdy bandage wound around your ribs, and the cooling, gentle tingle in your skin lets you know it's been saturated in sopor. You're impressed that Dave thought to go that far, glad that he did. It means you'll actually recover.

You're still light-headed from blood loss, and you're sore all over, but you're curious to see if Dave has stuck around. You sit up gingerly, hand pressed to your injury, and you lean back against the corner of the room, head against the wall and gritting your teeth in pain. It hurts to move, but you tought it out.

When you're sitting upright, you glance around the room, eyes stopping at your table and the figure sitting near it. He's looking in your direction, and your sickle is in his hand. He sits it down, gets to his feet, and comes to your side, kneeling down next to you.

"Sup." He says, and you snarl at him, grimacing when you do. You'd punch him if you could, but it already hurts to hold yourself upright, sopor or no, so you file it away for sometime later. For now, you tilt your head toward him, looking at him with a hard glance.

"What the fuck kind of person stabs someone then greets them with 'sup.' Are you really still that goddamned stupid?" If you didn't know him as well as you do, you'd think he didn't care, but you can tell he's genuinely sorry, the expression on his face softening. The lighting is bad and his glasses are back on, so you can't read his eyes very well, but his face is creased in places you don't remember, hard lines cutting across the planes of his skin. He looks twenty years older than you remember him.

"Sorry. I had no idea it was you until I saw the blood, assholes don't give me much information beforehand. Not really my place to know what their shit is, y'know?" You don't know. You have no idea what he's done with himself, what kind of life he's made in this new world, and you almost wonder if you want to know at all. Despite his apology, you can't get past the fact that he was going to do it at all. That he was okay with breaking into someone's hive and attacking them in their sleep.

You give him a long, hard look, searching his face. He doesn't say anything else, but he shifts a little after a full minute of your glance, and you can tell he's beginning to get uncomfortable.

"Do I even want to know? I mean, I can't believe you'd be stupid enough to get yourself into whatever kind of situation you're in, but honestly? Isn't breaking into someone's hive in the dead of fucking morning a little too 'psychotic fucking asshole' for even you?" You shift your weight to get a little more comfortable, the bandages stiff and soaked in blood and drying sopor. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, shaking it and messing it out of place. It stands up afterward and he doesn't fix it, and maybe it's the sopor in your system, but you find you can't really look away.

"Look, I said I was sorry, all right? I don't have time to explain shit, I already should've left four hours ago but even I'm not a big enough of an asshole to let you bleed to death." He gets to his feet and stretches, looking at the posters on your wall. He avoids looking back down at you and the guilt is evident in his every move. It is the only reason you haven't reached out and torn him a new asshole in angry rants.

"You're just going to leave then? Drop back in after however fucking long, stab me in my own goddamn hive, and vanish again, no explanation at all? Jegus christ," you look away then, lean your head against the wall and stare up at your ceiling. The entire experience feels almost surreal - Dave popping back into your life, the strange circumstances involved, and the entire fucking thing are just too unreal. You almost wonder if you're dreaming, come to the conclusion based on the pain radiating through your chest that you're decidedly not.

"I can't stay any more, got to get back before someone starts asking questions," he says, picking up his sword from against the wall and slinging it over his shoulder. He straightens up and walks back toward you again, stopping at your bedside and looking you over with a small sigh.

"There's more bandages and sopor over there, change it when you feel up to it," he pauses, as if he is going to say something else, and you see him chew the inside of his lip, a sure sign that he's nervous or uncertain. "Why the fuck do you live all the way out here anyway, Karkles? Do you know how long it took me to get here?"

"Where the fuck else am I going to live? In a town full of fucking nutjobs ready to stab me because I bleed the wrong color? Fuck that." He seems to accept that answer, because he nods, and he heads for the door without pressing the matter. He hesitates, turning around to face you once more.

A voice in the back of your head is telling you that now that he's back, you can't just let him walk out your hive door like this. You have to say something, have to ask him where he's been, what he's done, how he survived when you were so sure. When you try to open your mouth to talk to him, the words don't want to come out. 

"I'm sorry. Really. If I'd known it was you I wouldn't have even come," he says, leaning his hand against the doorframe, and even though you can't see his eyes, you know he is looking directly at you. "My Trollian handle hasn't changed. Hit me up some time, let me know how that's healing."

You don't really know what to say to that, brain still muddled from sopor and blood loss, and you nod and say "okay" under your breath.

"I'll see you around, Karkat."

He is gone for barely five minutes before you fall back into unconsciousness in a blur of pain and confusion.

\---

When you awaken for the second time that day, it's nearly dusk, and your head and neck hurt horribly from the position you passed out in. You lean forward until you are sitting upright and tilt your head to the side, a gratifying pop easing the pain in your neck.

It takes you a minute to remember what happened only a few hours ago, and it comes back to you in a rush of half-remembered past experiences and confusion. If it weren't for the bandage still firmly around your torso, you would be convinced it was a dream.

"Fuck," you mutter under your breath, leaning forward, elbows propped delicately on your knees. To see Dave Strider again after all this time and have him walk back out of your life like nothing ever happened makes you feel indescribably, deeply angry with him. You try to remember what it had been like before all this happened, before you got shoved in this world you can't stand and this life, but it's hard, a big blur of motion and noise and friends you haven't seen in sweeps.

You remember his Trollian handle somewhere in the mess of your memory and you pull yourself to your feet gingerly, hobble your way to your desk and pull your husktop closer to you. You click over to Trollian and add his screen name into the friends list, and you realize you were holding your breath up until the moment it registers and his name appears as offline on the panel.

Fuck. You'd hoped he'd be around, now that you were more coherent and focused, so you could ask him some questions. Like why he thought it was okay to stab you and leave. And why he was even around to begin with.

You get to your feet again once you're certain he's not signing on any time soon, searching the room for the bandages and sopor he'd promised. When you spot it, you gather it up into your arms, heading toward the trap to get cleaned and changed.

You could wait for Dave to sign on Trollian, whenever that might be, or you could go to the only person who might know where he was.

You've never been a very patient person.

\---

Sollux is already in the cafe when you arrive, spread out on one of the couches in the side of the room with his husktop on his chest and Rose sitting at his side. He is staring at the ceiling with general disinterest and she is talking to him in a calm, quiet voice that you cannot hear from the doorway. You stay where you are for a moment, giving them some privacy. If there's anything Sollux needs it's someone other than you to help him out of the mess he's worked his way into, and you're glad Rose is around to talk to him.

Rose spots you after several minutes, waving you over with a gentle smile. You walk to their sides, doing your best to hide your obvious discomfort and knowing that you fail based on the expressions on their faces.

"What the fuck happened to you, KK? And don't even try to say nothing like a stubborn jackass because it's pretty obvious something happened. You look like you got hit by a truck. Moreso than usual, that is," Sollux says, proping his head up on the arm of the couch to get a better look at you, and you flip him off as you lower yourself into the chair.

"Gee, thanks for your fucking support, Sollux, I'm astonished by how much friendly love and affection I'm getting from you right now," you say, dropping your bag to the floor with an unceremonious thud.

"He is right though, Karkat. You're looking especially worn down today," Rose says, and her expression is so worried that you want to snap at her in anger, because she's not your moirail and has no right giving you such a fucking pitying look. You chalk it up to your lack of sleep, writing off your anger to instead replace it with annoyance. She means well, and snapping at her would be an unwarranted response. You take a deep breath to help yourself relax.

"Yeah, well that might be because your piece of shit ectotwin decided to say hello by shoving a fucking sword through my chest," you spit the words in a sharp snap, and immediately feel like an ass because the surprised looks on both Sollux's and Rose's faces are far more genuine than you were expecting. Sollux sits up on the chair and leans forward, putting a hand on your shoulder.

"Jesus fuck KK why didn't you say something? You should've fucking called me! I mean clearly you're not dead but are you okay?" His momentary panic makes him sound more concerned than he normally would and you brush his hand off with a nod.

"Don't worry, he at least had the decency to patch me up before he fucking ditched me." Rose is looking at you with wide eyes, searching your face for any sign that you might be lying. She finds whatever she's looking for and her frown deepens.

"Was it really him? Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm fucking sure," you rub your hands against your face and through your hair, trying hard to wake yourself up as best as you can. You're exhausted, sore, and still not sure how to handle the events of the past twenty-four hours. You are expecting to wake up at any moment, snug in your pile in your hive and without a horrible aching chest and all this confusion.

"You don't just forget forget someone who filled a quadrant for three years." 

There's a long moment where no one speaks before Rose gets to her feet and offers you her hand.

"I think we need to talk," she says, and you take her hand with a small sigh, letting her help you up.

 

She leads you into her living room upstairs, and she helps you lower yourself down on the couch with a groan. You haven't had a chance to change the bandages all night and the sopor you'd used earlier has started to dull, making the pain slowly creep back into your chest. It's healing and the bleeding has stopped, but without the numbing properties of the sopor you're incredibly sore. She takes a seat at the end of the couch and sits in still silence for a moment, the expression on her face the only indication of what she is thinking about.

"If it's too hard for you we can wait until you're feeling better," she says, and you shake your head and rest your hand over the hardened bandage, like you can stop the dull pain by touch. It hurts, yeah, but this is important enough that you don't give a fuck.

"I'm fine," you say, taking a deep breath through clenched teeth. She sighs and rests a hand on your leg.

"Why don't you let me have a look at it, Karkat. Just to make sure it's healing okay. Excuse me if I don't entirely trust you to take proper care of yourself," she says, and even though it should come off as patronizing she says it with a smile (and you can't really deny it), so after a moment you nod in response. She sits you upright, scooting across the couch to be closer to you, and she helps you take your shirt off. It feels weird to let anyone other than Gamzee get this close to you, and you involuntarily pull away from her touch when she reaches out to inspect the bandage. She doesn't comment on your hestitation, instead giving you a moment to associate yourself with the idea.

"I'm sure Kanaya has something we can use to replace this for now. For having put it on yourself, you've done a surprisingly good job," she says as she gets to her feet, disappearing from the room and heading down the small hallway in the corner. You wait as patiently as you can for her to return, flicking your attention back and forth from the dining room table to the vase of yellow flowers in the corner of the room and back to the kitchenette. It takes all of your willpower to not take out your husktop and check Trollian for probably the fiftieth time today.

Rose returns with an armful of gauze and a small bottle of viscous green goo you immediately recognize as sopor concentrate.

"Let's get this old one off," she says, resuming her position back on the couch at your side, and you slip your fingernail under the edge of the bandage, pulling it loose. You unwind the old gauze as slowly and carefully as you can, wincing when it pulls at the irritated skin of the wound, and Rose gathers up the used bandages and tosses them in a small trashcan at the end of the couch.

You can immediately tell from the look in her eyes that she is more than a little surprised by the state of your chest. The wound has healed fairly nicely so far, sealed enough that it doesn't bleed so much as ooze a pinkish, thin puss at the deeper and more irritated parts in the middle.

She leans in to get a closer look, holding a thin hand delicately above your chest.

"May I? Just to ensure it's doing well," she says, and you nod and hiss under your breath when her fingertips brush your damaged skin. It's an irritated bright red in the direct center, blending with the grey of your flesh as it spreads out to make a disgusting color of brownish black. She pulls back with what you think is a relieved sigh.

"It was a clean injury, straight in the front and out the back. You'll have an interesting set of matching scars, more than likely. I'm not an expert on Troll biology, but it appears to have missed anything vital, or else I assume you wouldn't be sitting here right now." 

Rose Lalonde, always one to state the obvious.

"Astute observation, doctor Lalonde, thanks for confirming that I am, indeed, still fucking breathing," you say, and she doesn't even acknowledge your pissy response with so much as an eyeroll, instead busying herself with the jar of sopor slime.

With Dave so fresh in your mind, you remember all of the small differences between the two. Where she meets your sarcasm with calm poise and dry wit, Dave would respond with a fiery insult of his own. You would have fought until one of you had run out of ideas, and then you would have resorted to calling him an "insufferable prick" and he'd call you Karkitty and you'd end up laughing about it later.

It hurts to remember that and to realize how different it is now. You wonder if he will come back into your life, make himself a constant for you once again, or if this is it and he's going to be gone for good once more.

"How have you been applying this? To the bandages or directly to the wound?" Her voice catches your attention and you take the bottle from her hands and pop open the lid.

"Bandages. But it's healed enough I'd be better off rubbing it directly into the center. It will save on sopor, which god only fucking knows how expensive that shit is now," you say, and she nods in response. You spoon a bit of the sopor onto your fingertips and it makes the pads of your fingers tingle, working down into your joints and numbing your fingers in a pleasant way.

Sometimes you desperately miss sleeping in sopor, even if it's no longer necessary and has gained an altogether new purpose.

You rub the slime into the center of the cut, working your fingers against the torn flesh as much as you can handle, and it hurts only long enough for the sopor to kick in and numb it to the touch. Satisfied you've covered the entire area, you hand the container back to Rose.

"I can't reach my back," you say, matter-of-factly, and she says she'll handle it, placing on hand on your shoulder while you lean forward and using the other to repeat your actions from the front. You suck in a sharp intake of breath when her fingers touch your skin, and you think of how horrible this whole situation is, that Rose Lalonde of all people is currently tending to your wounds, and you think of how it doesn't really even seem that weird when you stop and think about it. You guess that's what happens when you fight and almost die for your friends: you form some kind of bond that goes past the traditional four troll quadrants.

"I'll do the bandaging for you. While you did a fine job on your own, it would ensure it will be as secure as possible," she states and you don't bother to argue with her about it. You had managed to eventually get yourself properly wrapped up, but it may have taken you two or three tries this morning to get it actually covering the four inch span of the wound. Having her help significantly decreases the time the entire process takes, at least.

You hold up your arms and she bandages you from your armpits to your grubscars, and she secures it with a small metal clasp. Content that it is safely in place, she pats you on the shoulder to indicate that you can lower your arms once more, and you do so, leaning back against the back of the couch with a sigh.

Sopor is a fast-acting healing agent, good for emergencies (such as this) and key to healing drastic wounds for a troll. Were the wound truly fatal, it would have done little good, but since it is a clean injury missing anything important, it's done it's job fairly well. The downfall to the healing properties, however, is that it inevitably makes you pleasantly buzzed for the first while that you have it coursing through your system. It hasn't had enough time to spread through your blood stream, but it's only a matter of minutes before you feel its complete effects.

You pull your shirt back over your head and turn to face Rose, intent on actually doing what you came here for before the sopor knocks you down for the count.

"Did you know Dave was alive? What the fuck is he doing with his life that he tried to fucking murder me? Where the hell has he been and who is the 'they' that he talked about when he was with me?" You ramble your questions in one rapid-fire breath, and she blinks at you slowly while she thinks them over, like she is peeling them all apart and putting them in a neat line in her brain. You've always felt that was the way Rose approached a problem: that she had to pick it apart piece by piece, categorize it and examine its every detail until she is sure she has the right response.

She answers in a slow, steady tone.

"I had my suspicions that he was around. I've had... messages, letters and small packages sent to me with no return address and from an anonymous source, and I found it unlikely anyone else would find it quite as funny to send me a knitted cat sweater or a novel about ancient wizards for my birthday as Dave Strider would."

You try not to feel incredibly jealous that he has never tried to contact you.

"Why the fuck has he been hiding from us for fucking sweeps, then? I thought he was dead, goddammit. What other explanation could there have been? He's the only one who we haven't had contact with at all," you say, and she shakes her head in response.

"Not entirely true. We've seen very little of John and Jade as well as half of your group since the end of Sburb. It was pure chance that we even know each other now. When we arrived in this world, we were put in new lives in competely new situations. It is possible he has been put into a situation that is not very reliable for constant contact with us. If I recall, Gamzee is in a similar place?"

She's not wrong, you think, because she is Rose and she is never wrong.

Gamzee has been working in a highblood organization that functions as a lesser version of the Subjuggulators from Alternia. He's told you very little about what he gets up to at his "job," but the similarities make your stomach churn sometimes, and you tell him quite frequently that he should leave where he is and come to Prospit or Derse with your small group. He has been adamantly refusing, and when you bring it up lately, he ignores the subject entirely.

You try to push that thought from your mind. One problem at a time, Karkat.

"Yeah, but that doesn't explain why the fuck he thought it was okay to break into my hive, drag me out of my pile, and try to fucking kill me in my own living room. If you had seen him you would have known, dammit, he wasn't going to stop until I was fucking dead," you say, and you let out a sharp, short little laugh. "The only thing that made him stop was seeing my blood. Guess I owe it thanks for one thing at least, 'oh gee, thanks for being the reason he was probably going to stab me in the first place, I sure do appreciate the thoughtfulness of letting me live.'"

Rose shakes her head at you and places a hand on your knee. A part of you wishes that she would just go away, because you don't want to deal with this any more, you want to let the sopor flush through your system and forget that this is even something that is happening right now.

There is a smaller part, however, that is glad for her closeness, and you feel terrible about it the same way Kanaya made you feel just yesterday. You wish you could stop feeling so guilty about a moirail you haven't seen in sweeps.

You push your quadrant problems from your head.

"Karkat, are you really surprised someone had a reason to try to kill you? The 'Signless of this era?'" You fall silent at that, eyes focused on the carpet of her floor, and you feel sick to your stomach. It falls into place in your brain like a slow motion puzzle, revealing the big revelation you've been trying to ignore:

People want you dead for the things you've said. You are the leader of a rebel reform movement and there are plenty of people out there who take issue to that.

Oh, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

Rose seems to sense your panic, and she squeezes your knee gently to get your attention.

"I'm sorry. I should have been more mindful with my observations, you are clearly upset at the moment and I'm sure I've done very little to help with that." You shake your head in protest, even though it feels numb, like you are doing it from a hundred feet away.

"I'm not upset. And fuck you, by the way," you say, and she smiles that stupid sad little smile of hers and gets to her feet. When she pulls her hand away from your knee you feel incredibly distressed about it and want to reach out and grab it in your own, but find that you can't bring yourself to do it.

"You're right, you aren't upset. But the sopor should be taking effect soon and I am going to have to insist that you spend the day with us. We will do our best to not bother you, you are free to stay as long as you wish, but I suggest you at least try to get some rest. We will talk about this more when you're feeling a little more yourself," she says, and she indicates the blanket hanging on the back of the couch and you turn and pull it down around your shoulders, wrapping yourself up in its warmth. It smells something like roses and coffee from the shop below, a surprisingly comforting touch.

"Okay, fine. Not a bad idea," you say, and your voice sounds thick and heavy to your own ears, the concentrated sopor slime doing its job as it courses through your blood. The pain in your chest has completely subsided for the time being, and you spread yourself out on the couch to make yourself a little more comfortable.

She draws the blinds across from you to prevent the coming of dawn from bothering you, and you remember as she is about to leave the room that there was something important you had wanted to tell her. It comes to you in a blur of red text and you call out to her to wait. She turns back around and asks you if you need something.

"Dave. He said his Trollian name was the same as before, but I haven't seen him get online yet. TurntechGodhead, right?" She stands in momentary silence before nodding.

"Yes, that was it." There is a moment where you aren't sure if she's still standing there or not until you hear the soft sounds of her footsteps as they make their way down the hallway and to her room. You wait until you are certain she is gone, feeling like she will scold you for doing something other than sleep, before you roll onto your side and pull your husktop onto the couch with you. You flip it open and immediately check Trollian's friend list for any sign of Dave's screen name.

He doesn't sign on.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay wow sorry I've disappeared for a really really long time. orz Between work at two jobs and planning for a bridal shower + bachorlette party and working on stuff for an upcoming con I've been neck deep in real life priorities and unable to focus on writing much. I'm not even sure I'm super happy with this chapter but I just can't keep looking at it so here you go, the next chapter will actually have some sort of action in it I promise. u___u Thanks for being patient.

_There is a sound something like an explosion a few feet to your left, and you jump back just as the wind gets knocked clear out of your chest, and before you can respond properly, everything goes silent. You aren't sure if the fighting has finally gone quiet or if you are now deaf because of the sound so close to your side, and your ears ring and you stagger to your feet as fast as you can._

_You hurt. You hurt in so many different places it's ridiculous and if you could you would just lie back down and give up on this fight, because it feels like it's been going on forever, and you don't want to do it any more._

_Someone is calling your name, and even though you think they must be close to you they sound very, very far away._

_Rose's hand rests on your shoulder, shaking you._

_"We have to go, Dave! Come on," she says, and it sounds like a whisper and there's a trail of blood streaking down her face and into her left eye, which she is keeping firmly shut. You lift a hand to brush it aside for her and she shakes you again._

_"No time for that right now. There are still monsters appearing and we need to get to the gate," you nod in response even though you aren't entirely sure what she's said and you let her grab your hand and pull you along with her. Your hearing comes and goes in little waves, and the ringing has yet to let up, but you can faintly hear the sounds of the others yelling and running around you._

_Someone staggers against you, latches onto your arm with a little whine you can barely understand. You loop an arm around Karkat's waist without hesitation, pulling him securely to your side._

_"What, too beat up to walk on your own?" You say, and he just looks at you quietly for a moment before nodding, hanging on like you are the last solid thing in this entire world._

_His lack of a real retort bothers you, but you don't let it on._

_The three of you hobble toward the gate you can see in the distance, your companions already filing through it in groups of two or three. Dirk turns to meet your eye as he helps Roxy to her feet, and he nods at you, some kind of silent approval or agreement or something else you'll never fully understand before he helps her through and they vanish in a pop of light._

_You are almost five feet away, the last of your group to get through, before you get ambushed._

_You aren't expecting it, and even Rose is caught completely off guard. You have enough time to let go of her hand and scramble for your sword before you are being knocked square on your back and Karkat is sent tumbling at your side. You kick out at whatever has attacked you, fling it backward and climb to your feet to give yourself a better advantage. Karkat has one sickle in his hand, the other lost long ago in the fight, and Rose is supporting him against her side, her free hand extending in a flicker of light._

_They're both armed, but hurt worse than you, and you doubt their ability to get out of this situation whole._

_You can think of only one possible solution._

_You dive at the nearest imp, shove your sword through its chest, and fling it backward over your shoulder, sending it careening into the line of the others behind you. There's a pop of noise as the imps respond to your attack, and you take the time to flashstep in front of Rose and Karkat. You captcha your sword, hold out your hands, and freeze time in a neat circle around you._

_The area is filled with silence._

_"Go," you say, and they both just stand there, weapons at the ready, looking at you in confusion. Rose opens her mouth to yell at you, but the words are lost over the sound of your own._

_"Stop just standing there and staring at me, I know I'm pulling the stupid movie hero bullshit right now but the least you two could do is swoon at me then run for your lives or something, I dunno man Egbert is the expert on that. Get through the gate while I hold 'em off."_

_They talk over each other in a flurry of "absolutely not" and "go fuck yourself, Dave, you self-important asshole" and you shake your head at every protest. Rose reaches out to touch you, and you flinch back._

_You don't want to get a look at her face._

_"Stop being stupid and go, goddammit. I'll catch up," you say, and you aren't sure if you're telling the truth or not, and Rose and Karkat both know it based on the looks on their faces._

_There is an inhuman cry from somewhere in the distance, and the three of you stiffen._

_"They aren't going to let up and if there's anything in this stupid game I'm going to do right it's this, so stop wasting my valiant efforts and get a fucking move on." Your voice cracks at the end, but neither Karkat or Rose acknowledge it._

_Rose has to loop both her arms around Karkat's waist to support both herself and the troll, and they walk past you as slow as they can, and both of them tell you to catch up as fast as possible "or else." Karkat opens his mouth like he is going to say something more, and you shake your head._

_"Look dude if you are about to pledge your undying hate or pity or whatever the fuck at me right now, I don't wanna hear it. Save it for when I'm back, it's not like I'm goin' off forever or something, jesus."_

_He closes his mouth with a nod._

_"I'm fucking holding you to that, Strider." Their hands brush yours on the way out, and you send them off with a mutter of "later," waiting until your hear the faint woosh of them being sent off to wherever the end game takes them._

_You are alone in this void, this remnants of the battlefield, and there are an impossible number of imps and other monsters between you and the door. You figure you've got a fifty-fifty chance, at least._

_You take a deep breath, drop your arms, and all hell breaks loose._

\---

Your name is Dave Strider, you are twenty-five years old, and you are sitting on a small, extravagant leather couch wearing only a pair of black jeans and staring at the burnt-out butt of a cigarette in your hand. The radio in the corner is playing some station you don't immediately recognize; other than that and the sound of a running shower in the background, the room is fairly quiet.

You hate this place, but even you have to admit that at least the housing is good, if nothing else. It's spacious, clean, and a touch over-the-top thanks to Dirk, and maybe you don't care too much for the huge picture window in the dining room but, hey, can't be perfect. If only the whole thing wasn't so purple - quite frankly, you aren't really a fan. You think you've seen enough of it.

Better than the shithole he's apparently living in, your brain provides, and you lean you head back against the couch and stare at the ceiling with a sigh. You were trying not to think about that, but so much for that. Looks like you are out of luck on that. You contemplate getting drunk now, figure Dirk will give you endless shit for it since it's barely past two in the afternoon.

Things really aren't going your way lately. Between the botched situation yesterday and the insane chick you're working with, it's been quite a mess.

Dirk catches you off guard with a hand on your shoulder, and you can feel the heat of the shower he's just finished radiating off his chest beside you. You don't acknowledge him until he plucks the cigarette butt out of your fingers and sits down next to you on the couch, tossing it into the trash with a flick. You narrow your eyes at him behind your shades.

"Just message him already. This sulking is pathetic," he says, rummaging in the drawer of the small table by the couch for a cigarette of his own. He offers you another one, and you take it, but turn down his offer of a light. You're more interested in holding it right now, to be honest. It's comforting in a way.

"Fuck you," you say, twirling the cigarette between your fingers and watching the flicker of sunlight on the floor. You're trying to avoid making eye contact with him, and he knows it. He shifts his weight beside you and raises a perfect eyebrow in skepticism.

"Right, not sulking at all. I would never in my life consider sitting around staring at a wall for two hours sulking."

"Seriously Dirk, shut the fuck up. Not in the mood for your bullshit," you respond, and he looks at you with that smug look of his and you flip him off with the hand holding the cigarette. He responds with a bright smile.

"Just a suggestion, but you might want to tell him to lay low at the very least, or else we're going to have to deal with that one head-on," he says, and you groan, rubbing your forehead in thought. He's right about that, at least. You were supposed to eliminate that problem - if Karkat were to start with his normal rantings again, it'd become pretty obvious that you hadn't actually done what you were supposed to do.

While you'd more than happily go against the norm on a daily basis, you're not so sure you should in this scenario.

"You're right, I give up," you say, getting to your feet and tucking the cigarette behind your ear. You figure you're going to want it after this. 

"You might as well just start planning my funeral now, Bro. You know the amount of shit I'm about to get laid on me from that asshole? He's gonna tear my head off in two seconds flat."

You shoot him a pleading look and he just laughs. Great, so much for brotherly moral support. You wave him off with a shake of your head and make your way to your bedroom, a small room attached to the living room and past the kitchen. It's not much, but you like it, and thank god it's not purple.

Your turntable equipment takes up most of the space, but you have a small computer chair and desk set up in the far corner, your laptop and desktop set up side by side. You take a seat, power on the computer, and take a moment to gather your thoughts while it gets started.

What are you even going to say to him. You aren't sure you can really explain what has happened since the game ended, where you've been and what you've done. You aren't sure you know it all yourself.

You remember that time he was going to say something to you and didn't, and wonder if you should ask him for an extension on that. It sounds incredibly stupid when you try to say it outloud, though, so you change your mind. He probably doesn't even remember anyway, after all.

When your desktop loads, you stare at the little red Trollian icon for a full two minutes, clicking aimlessly around the desktop without any real purpose. You hate to admit it, but you're nervous. A once in a lifetime event for you, but you can't really help it. You've been avoiding these confrontations for a long time.

You take a deep breath. You'd feel like too much of an ass just disappearing again after what you did, and Dirk is right - you at least need to warn Karkat before you try to cut ties again. When you click on the icon to start Trollian, your chest flutters with anticipation and nerves, and you have to take a moment to collect your composure before you set yourself to the online status.

As soon as your status changes, you receive two messages. It's like they were waiting around for you or something, and you feel pretty bad about that, since you've been putting this off for almost a whole day. You're definitely going to hear an ear full now.

You open both windows and look them over briefly. Unexpectedly, one is from Rose and the other is from Karkat. They were sent within five seconds of each other, and if it were anyone else, you would have thought they had coordinated it. Which, you suppose, is quite possible. You figure the fact Rose is messaging you either means she's been attempting this for a while, guessing your handle, or Karkat has told her everything.

While you wouldn't put it past her, you figure it's probably the latter.

Now, who to confront first.

\-- tentacleTherapist [TT] began trolling turntechGodhead [TG] at 02:20 --

TT: Dave?  
TT: Assuming this is really you, I must insist that you answer Karkat's messages.  
TT: While I have much I'd like to say to you myself, I think it would perhaps be in all of our best interests if you address him as soon as possible.  
TT: He is, understandably, not very happy with you.  
You can't help the smile that crosses your face. Rose hasn't changed one bit from the last time you talked - if her message is any indication - and you notice now, seeing her purple text on your screen, how much you've missed talking to her.  
TG: hey  
TG: yeah its me dont worry ill message him too  
TG: i bet hes workin himself into a raving fit over there definitely glad i dont have to hear that out loud  
TG: ill be around for a bit after i handle karkitten so ill hit you up next i promise  
TT: I am holding you to that promise, Dave.  
TT: I've... missed you.  
TG: yeah  
TG: missed you too sis  
TG: wish me luck with vantas itll be a miracle if i even come out of this alive

\-- tuntechGohead [TG] ceased trolling tentacleTherapist [TT] --

At least the conversation with Rose went better than you could have expected. You were anticipating a bit more analytical prying into your life, but you figure that'll come after you talk to Karkat. You wonder why she seemed to know exactly how he was doing so well, but figure you can ask about that later.

First, you have an angry troll to respond to.

\-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] began trolling turntechGodhead [TG] at 02:20 --

CG: OH MY GOD FINALLY.  
CG: YOU REALLY ARE ONLINE, RIGHT??? THIS HAD BETTER NOT BE MY SLEEP DEPRIEVED BRAIN PLAYING TRICKS ON ME AGAIN.  
CG: BECAUSE I'M PRETTY SURE IT'S DONE THAT ONCE ALREADY.  
CG: AND THAT WOULD BE A STUPID AND IDIOTIC THING TO DO TWICE, BUT I WOULDN'T PUT IT PAST ME.  
CG: COME ON YOU IDIOT ANSWER ME. I AM LITERALLY GOING TO EXPLODE RAGE OUT OF MY AURAL CANALS IN FIVE MINUTES IF YOU DON'T STOP IGNORING ME.  
CG: YOU WILL FEEL THE OVERWHELMING INTENSITY OF MY WHITE-HOT RAGE THROUGH THIS COMPUTER I HOPE YOU KNOW THAT.  
TG: whoa babe calm down im here im just answering rose first i cant keep the lady waiting  
CG: YOU'RE SERIOUSLY GOING TO CALL ME THAT.  
TG: sorry to say it man but shes scarier than you when shes pissed im not about to fuck with that  
CG: AFTER SO MANY FUCKING YEARS YOU'RE GOING TO CALL ME THAT.  
CG: I CANNOT BELIEVE YOU, DAVE FUCKING STRIDER.  
CG: I LITERALLY CANNOT COMPREHEND HOW YOU LIVE WITH YOURSELF EVERY SINGLE DAY YOU INSUFFERABLE FUCKING DOUCHEBAG.  
TG: whoa calm down karkat im sorry i didnt think about it fucking christ

There's a moment where neither of you say anything, and you try to think of what you can even say to make this situation any better at all. You probably deserve the verbal bombardment you're receiving right now, but it's frustrating in some ways. You aren't sure what you expected his response to be, and while anger is generally how he responds to every situation in the entire world, you were maybe hoping for something a bit different.

Not that you really think you deserve any sort of warm welcome. You figure you probably blew that when you tried to kill him (accidentally, of course, but still, same deal).

TG: hows that wound coming along  
TG: didnt have time to get much supplies for you but i figured itd be good enough for now  
CG: FINE, NO THANKS TO YOU. ROSE HAS BEEN HELPING.  
TG: you guys friends now or something? i got the impression you never cared for her much what with all the rambling about leaders or whatever you did before  
CG: SHIT CHANGES.

Another long pause. You want to tear out your hair in frustration, tell him you're sorry and what does he want from you, for you to rip your heart out of your chest and beat it to a pulp on the table to demonstrate how guilty you feel? You've never been very good at this apologizing thing, and Karkat couldnt' be a more difficult person to try to talk to if he tried.

TG: are you seriously gonna be pissed at me about the nickname thing now  
TG: jesus karkat im sorry okay  
TG: im sorry that i tried to kill you COMPLETELY ON ACCIDENT MIND YOU and im sorry for being a big huge fucking asshole by wallowing in my own self pity and not being able to pull my head out of my ass long enough to try to find you guys  
TG: okay is that good or should i keep going  
CG: OH, KEEP GOING. ENLIGHTEN ME AS TO HOW YOU ARE A FUCKING DOUCHEBAG SELF-ABSORBED PIECE OF SHIT SOME MORE. I'M LITERALLY ENTHRALLED WITH THIS PERFECT EXAMPLE OF HOW TO BE AN ABSOLUTE FUCKING ASS.  
TG: wow tell me how you really feel karkat  
TG: i can feel the sick burns from over here dude jesus  
TG: i think you singed my eyebrows off and now im gonna look like some kind of eyebrowless freak all thanks to you  
CG: GOOD, THEN YOU'RE APPEARANCE WILL FIT THE IDIOT YOU REALLY ARE.  
TG: ice cold  
CG: YOU STILL OWE ME AN EXPLANATION.  
TG: what?  
TG: augh fuck right i figured you were gonna ask about that  
TG: any chance we can not talk about ever  
CG: NOT TALK ABOUT IT? YOU *****STABBED ME IN MY SLEEP*****. WE ARE GOING TO FUCKING TALK ABOUT IT AND YOU ARE GOING TO EXPLAIN EVERYTHING TO ME RIGHT THE FUCK NOW.  
TG: yeah i figured thatd be your response  
CG: AS A MATTER OF FACT, WHERE ARE YOU. I AM GOING TO MARCH OVER THERE, PUNCH YOU IN THE FUCKING FACE, AND YOU ARE GOING TO EXPLAIN TO ME EVERYTHING STARTING WITH YOUR STUPID IDIOTIC ACT OF HUMAN "HEROISM" AND ENDING WITH ******STABBING ME IN THE CHEST*****  
TG: no  
CG: WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN "NO."  
TG: i mean no did you suddenly up and forget what no means  
TG: no you cant come here  
TG: okay look ill come to you i know where you live and everything  
TG: midday tomorrow alright ill roll my ass right to your shitty little lawnring and well talk  
CG: FINE.  
TG: until then do me a favor karkat  
TG: and im being perfectly fucking serious here this is literally a life or death situation for all parties involved we cant fuck around with this  
TG: dont post  
TG: not even think about posting  
TG: i better not see a fucking word out of cg until we get a chance to talk shit over  
CG: NO FUCK THAT. WHY THE FUCK DO YOU EVEN CARE?  
TG: because i dont want to fucking die asshole thats why i care  
TG: just do me that favor i realize i dont really deserve shit but at least lets get a chance to talk first  
TG: or else youll never hear a word from me again got it  
CG: UGH, FINE. THIS IS BLACKMAIL, I CAN'T BELIEVE I'M EVEN AGREEING TO THIS. WHATEVER YOU HAVE TO SAY BETTER BE DAMN GOOD, STRIDER.  
TG: always is  
TG: now that youre done ripping my head off with your verbal assault im gonna hit up rose alright  
TG: knowing you you havent slept in like six days or something so go the fuck to sleep  
TG: im not about to have you falling asleep on me while i spin my awesome tale of woe and wonder tomorrow you hear me  
CG: YOU ARE JUST AS HORRIBLE AS I REMEMBER YOU.  
TG: thanks ill take that as a compliment comin from you  
CG: YOU HAD BETTER SHOW UP TOMORROW, DAVE STRIDER, OR SO HELP ME GOD I WILL TRACK YOU DONE AND SHOVE MY FOOT SO FAR UP YOUR WASTE CHUTE YOU'LL FEEL IT IN YOUR THINKPAN.  
TG: right okay whatever you say ill definitely be on time for our date i promise  
TG: now get the fuck off the computer and go sleep  
CG: FINE.

\-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] has ceased trolling turntechGodhead [TG] --

You lean back in you chair and stare at the screen for a solid minute, taking a deep breath, letting it out, and repeating the process over again.

What have you gotten yourself in to. You should have never responded, just left them both sitting around waiting forever wondering what happened to you and disappear off into the night like the masked marauder or something. There goes Dave Strider, riding off into the distance, never to be heard from again.

Even without Dirk bothering you, you know you couldn't have ever actually done that. There's too much at stake, you feel too guilty, and you've dug yourself into a worse hole than you think you've ever been in.

Dirk is going to have to work overtime to get you out of this one.

Goddammit.

You open the chat window with Rose and carry on a short, civil conversation for the next hour, jumping around the elephant in the room of "where the fuck have you been" with expert backflips and pirouettes of bullshit.

You tell her you already know where she lives, and will stop by if you get a good chance. She just simply says she hopes you can.

You hope so, too.

\---

_You've lost all track of time. You think it might have been days, but then you aren't sure, because it seems that time passes slower here. Like it is suspended, frozen._

_You don't notice if you are hungry, wonder if you are dead and didn't even realize when it happened. Sometimes you lie and stare off into inky black nothing and wonder what the others are doing, if they remember you, if they got their new world._

_You wonder what Karkat was going to say to you, regret not letting him say it._

_It is on what you estimate to be the fifth or sixth day that you hear a voice, soft and sure in your ear._

_"You there. Boy."_

_A pause. You aren't sure if you imagined the words or not, and you hold your breath in suspense, waiting for some other sign or noise at all._

_You think you can smell salt and the sea, can taste something like brine on your tongue._

_"Knight-boy. Come here. I can help you, if you let me."_

_You push off the ground and get to your feet, pull yourself together and look around the black void for any sign of the owner of the voice. In the distance you think you see the glimmer of something pale pink and yellow._

_"Listen here, boy. Help me and I can help you. Everyfin will be fine."_

_You don't think it through. You don't stop to question. The voice is salvation and you are so scared of this place and of dying that you don't even care what you are even agreeing to any more._

_"Okay," you say, and you follow the sound of the voice._


End file.
